


We take the sound and bring it to the street (One day the weak will soon be strong)

by KaneNogami



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Chucky and Peco not being quite humans anymore, Gen, More of a 'fuck it', Not a fix it though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaneNogami/pseuds/KaneNogami
Summary: Now, as the eerie glow of sunset is asking the city, making it appear ablaze—wishful dream they have given up on—the survivors sit on top of a familiar roof. Isn't it time to say goodbye? To jump as one, fingers laced together, to dance one last time, laughter forbidden, another chance of getting caught—they reject every possibility, cutting the fruit into equal tragedies, each of them holding one half.Let's make a wish, they seem to say without a word.//Helheim, a bit upset at an ending where only two children remain, adopts them. With a hint of forced persuasion, overpowered gifts and Her blessing.
Relationships: Peco & Chucky
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	We take the sound and bring it to the street (One day the weak will soon be strong)

**Author's Note:**

> Canon? Don't know her. This is the fic I've been wanting to write for years. Beware that I added some backstory for Chucky (who now has a family) and Peco because someone had to.  
> I have no idea where I'm going with this, although Mai will be Gaim, and Micchi is not fucking up that badly because Peco and Chucky aren't letting that happen.

Hell has outgrown its own roots, struggling to develop further now that the city is merely a forest—or rather what's left of life. Buildings eaten inside and out, windows broken and glass shards everywhere outside, mud covering streets, old signs decayed or eaten by leaves, waters always twirling and dangerous. Silence overbearing, birds unable to survive the tempting fruits, squirrels and rats gone alike. Humanity used to roam these streets, to dance in some foolish conquest for power which turned out to be another trick from fate and grown-ups. Gods and pretenders alike, carrying the flag of battle behind children, yet refusing to take part in that. 

Now, as the eerie glow of sunset is basking the city, making it appear ablaze—wishful dream they have given up on—the survivors sit on top of a familiar roof. Isn't it time to say goodbye? To jump as one, fingers laced together, to dance one last time, laughter forbidden, another chance of getting caught—they reject every possibility, cutting the fruit into equal tragedies, each of them holding one half. 

_Let's make a wish_ , they seem to say without a word. 

The ruler of this world has watched from the start, lamenting himself over his misfortune, champions all gone, old and new alike. Not their problem, honestly, even as vines twist inside their entrails, making them lay on the roof without any strength. They weren't part of the deal; children lucky to be the last survivors, turned into young adults who survived against all odds, then time went ballistic— 

Morning, night, evening, all wrong—order troubled by an erratic rotation. Which year is it? Why should they care? 

For now, this place has been consumed fully, unlike the Earth as a whole. There are still gaps, vines pushing relentlessly, turning the soil infertile and feeding on whatever is left from humanity. How long will it be, until Helheim finds another planet to consume? 

Underneath skin, something is growing, spreading, leaving no space untouched. They repress screams, grabbing each other until red trails are left on their arms, enduring. That's not an ending—a trial perhaps. They have noticed, that wrecked pair, the first with a gaze of steel, the second with a cruel smile, how the inves ignore them lately. As if the pursuit had turned into boredom. 

Fine, then let's them be judged by the real mastermind. Not that fake entity they can spot from the corner of their eyes; Sagara has never deemed them worthy, won't do so no matter what. They're civilians, at best useful sacrifices, at worst nothing more than a nuisance. Isn't it grand, that they have ran out of fuck to give regarding the person who didn't even help them once over the past years? 

As soon as they die, however, he'll be free to seek another brand of champions, to twist destiny, invading another planet. As if he had won over Earth in the first place.

Blood is coughed out, coming out green and sticky. The first sits up, raising on her knees, ignoring the liquid pooling in her mouth, how much it wants out. She stares, challenging—she has deemed herself good enough for anything, that's all—without any proof that the plan will work out. 

The(ir) friends are dead. Some buried. Some lost. Some having been fed to Helheim as offerings, because they couldn't give up on themselves. The raging children left behind, the duo of pathetic civilians, they welcome the way their bodies try to turn themselves inside out. 

They celebrate each second without turning into a brainless creature. Eventually, the second joins her, sitting up, offering a smile at the enemy, green blood pouring from the gesture. It trashes their laps, the roof and everything. 

It feels good. 

They won't perish, bodies used as nutrients. Oh, come on, isn't it how invasions happen, sacrifices being made in their name without consent?

The fallen monarch, once surrounded by lazy puppets, opens his mouth, and they do not bother listening. Whatever he's preaching, they are not here for that. 

Instead, they allow the vines to slither around them—grass and flowers dragged everywhere, leaving trails on the floor. They observe, gleefully, as patterns pierce their skin from the inside. Vibrant sky blue, bright pink, covering legs or hands, excruciating pain where scars are being eaten up. Hatred is what they give—there used to be one last overlord, one filled with broken pride, who wished to be stopped, attacking them without any coherence. The second recalls loathing him, being tossed more than once against a wall, bones breaking—never coming back as they were supposed to be, bandages compressing his ribs and fingers until they became all wrong—and the day where they found the corpse, he was already out of laughter. 

The irony of being murdered by his own greed must have been terrible for the overlord. 

Weren't they close? What was his name? Why caring? 

Helheim does not either, nor _She_ minds that the first is digging fingers into her legs, picking skin, peeling herself akin a fruit—rebirth is meant to be life or death, to take and leave nothing worthwhile behind. Veins are pulsing, sky blue matching the colors of her nails—beautiful, isn't it? She wraps around her newfound children, abandoned ones.

The forest is Mighty; controlled by a fool, feeding on whatever is still alive enough to fill the craving for expansion. She is taking a step towards change too, tendrils running across the bare legs, feeling the warmth of the first. The second gets his fingers broken one after another, nails removed by Her care. So something else can grow in their place. More deadly—Her children will not bask in fear of that pathetic so-called god who has done nothing but reducing her to a tool. 

Do Her children share Her views? They have been seething for years now, perfectly ripe, ready to be harvested. How he waited for them to die. How She waited for them to grow strong enough to join her. She isn't fully sentient—She's more than what the foolish creatures leaving among her believed though. 

Blood turns green, then sky blue, or pink. Pupils burning as the eyes are reshaped, recolored with black instead of white—a natural shield from the sun, pupils so colorful in contrast, their allegiance shining through. The first, skin regrown, face kissed and washed—horns twisting on each side of her head, legs basked in pulsing patterns underneath a more solid skin. The second, nails too sharp, longer than they should be, beautiful claws covered in blood, teeth matching, shattered then built again. Shorter horns, barely visible underneath hair. 

Two monsters; neither overlords nor humans. Her children, a brand new creation. Capable to defile anybody stepping in. 

She cherishes them as a deadly mother can, wishing for them to spread Her truth. As they stand, vines supporting their backs, night having almost fallen over this world, they hold hands once more. 

Inside their brains, the final twists are operated, parasites washing off a couple of meaningless details; albeit leaving free will. She had enough puppets. 

"Sagara—" 

"Fake god—" 

The first and the second stare at each other, She loves them so much she could rip their bodies apart over and over to recreate them—

"Let's make a deal." 

Fear spreads. Not on their side though. 

  
  


Fairness isn't part of this. Their demands, what they entail, none of that will be respected as they wish. Instead, the fake deity twists words to his liking—he'll regret it. They challenge him over and over, never separating from each other. 

  
  


For a while, either one day or a year, as it has ceased to be important when vines started to pulse against their brain, they remain in this decayed paradise. Learning abilities which won't matter much once the past welcomes them again. Unless they survive long enough to unlock them again, to brace against destiny and mistakes made by others. 

The first, the dancer who wants to remain this way, builds walls and bridges out of vines, walking across buildings without fear. She craves promises into her body as if it was made out of wood, basking in the gruesome sight it always ends up being. 

The second, the one was a dancer and cannot be ever again, jumps instead, sometimes failing to reach the other side. His body has to be reshaped until he gets it right. They have time. 

Mother watches, as she ensnares them with her affection, bones creaking underneath crushing embraces. Won't they be extraordinary?

They already are. 

  
  


On that day, a reminder that some events cannot be altered no matter how they'll fight, the first and the second contemplate silence rather than listening. Their wasteland, flat decorated with junk, memories flooded by vines growing inside water pipes, river having turned into a terrible omen, water mixed with dirt to the point everything underneath the surface is gone forever—how they'll miss it. 

The first weeps, from the noise and lights—life bustling around them as they are abandoned on a street without as much as a 'good luck'. Whatever they intend on doing won't be enough, Sagara mocked them, pushing both into a portal. He wants to prey on his champions a bit more, that's all.

Another run with a similar ending. 

They ought to rip his head off next time they meet, like a friend did to another. Who were they, these vengeful souls hating each other? The past is slow to return, even their names feel distant. Akin to made up memories.

The second stares at his hands, free from blemishes or scars, for so long that everyone around them is only a blur. Raindrops hit his dyed hair, one after another, until the street empties itself, large umbrellas keeping the remaining strangers away. 

Families. Friends. 

Themselves. 

The second leans against the first, arm wrapping around her shoulders. _Let's play pretend, okay, it'll be fun?_

_It won't be._

What hurts the most isn't loss staring back at them, it's Her absence. They must be a bit early, enough to settle in these weird bodies so frail they will bleed and break at the first collision with reality. They wipe tears away, walking on auto-pilot to regain homes where they haven't been in a lifetime. 

  
  


Misplaced souls, the first pressing her forehead against the door before daring to step inside—crushed by yelling children grabbing her, younger sisters so little, barely reaching her waist. They tug and laugh, asking for stories and games. She ruffles their hair, wondering how tender the scalp would be underneath claws; they have to be protected, these two. Crouching down, she hugs them back, eyes clenched shut as she cannot recall the twins' names. 

It'll return. She has to be patient. 

Parents welcome her with a certain distance, and she notes her school uniform rather than her old team. Perhaps that's before she joined. The first time around, she did not bother to ask for their opinion, aware of rejection looming over her. 

"I'm going to audition to be a Beat Rider," she claims while taking her place at the table, ignoring comments fusing immediately. That's her path, she isn't afraid of being stopped. 

_It's fine_. 

  
  


The second rips off everything bothersome inside his room, leaving the walls bare; early team pride suffocated. Second half of 2012, still eager to please and to enjoy this existence. He throws everything into the trash, laying on his bed for hours. 

The uniform on the back of his chair, he wants to get rid of it too. That would be too simple, and it'll be regarded as out of character. Phone in hand, he stares at the screen for so long, unsure of how it's meant to work any longer; computers in the labs, dozens of videos watched, crimes exposed until the power in the tower went out too. He finds the right contact, older sister he betrayed and who won't forgive him until the world ends.

He calls, weirded out by his own voice when she picks up. Aza—what's the second part already? 

"Hey sis, I'm sorry to disturb you—" Shit, he is still terrible at apologies. This one is sincere though, mostly. Lack of body to mourn over, years spent waiting for nothing at all. Yeah, he's bitter.

_It's fine_. 

  
  


The rain isn't stopping, pouring over Zawame City although it's not the season any longer. Transparent umbrella over his shoulder, a boy is strolling around nonetheless, not minding being alone on the streets. After all the place is still unfamiliar—without vines or destruction, his sense of direction has been royally fucked over. He finds the building he was looking for anyway, stepping inside with a plastic bag hanging carelessly in his hand.

"Kaito-san," he walks directly towards the—he's a boy too. A kid still. Insolence painted over his face, scornful hatred not having erased everything yet. The second doesn't get it fully, why he chose to destroy his sister's team to create his own. That's unlike everything else, later promises of transparency and honesty. A world where the strong exist to protect the weak. Foolish utopia. 

He drops the bag on the table, uniform perfectly folded inside. Oh, at least it was when he left home. Now, not so sure anymore. 

"You're quitting ," an affirmation, not a question, "Peco." 

_Peco_. The second—Peco, or rather Mitsui Hirohisa—isn't at ease with his old self yet, finding it uncomfortable. He has outgrown this skin so long ago, why does he have to wait for it to happen again? 

"Yep," the word rolls on his tongue, "I love dancing, don't get me wrong. However, I'm staying with Azami now."

"Picking family over friendship?" 

How would you know about any of that, Kaito-san? Your father killed your mother and then opted to hang himself. Ah, he isn't supposed to know that yet. He will never be there for that speech, by leaving, which isn't that problematic. 

Zack is protesting in the background and watching them on the same side is deeply ironic. It makes him want to—rip their tongues off with claws he doesn't have right now. Head tilted to the side, flexing fingers, Peco plays the fool card. 

"Azami is still quite mad, which I get. You stole her team, you even took her brother and friends. So much about loyalty, right Zack?" 

Ah, he hasn't gotten too rusty. 

Sputtering to defend himself—that's the effect Kaito has on people. Charming being dragging everyone to hell with him—Zack is interrupted by their leader, who abandons his chair to grab Peco's collar. 

He expected that one. 

"What are you sayi—" 

"Kaito-san, good luck with Baron."

The honorific is said so harshly that he almost bites his tongue. After a long pause, the whole place stunned into silence, the grip on his jacket vanishes. He can tell, that Kaito doesn't get it. How could he, the previous week, Peco loved Baron and attention so much, doing anything to be noticed. What a shitshow his attitude was, back then. 

"However," he adds, "I truly couldn't care less as long as Azami forgives me."

"You're a coward. Abandoning everything for one person." 

Yeah, although it's not exactly for his sister in the end. Pointless detail. 

"And, your point is? That's wrong?"

Kaito is less of a giant than Zack, which doesn't spare Peco from craning his head back to stare at his now ex-leader. The truth is that forgetting is convenient, the pulsing against his brain enough to drown memories and the slight possibility of salvaging what's left of his future in Baron.

(The second recalls what his body has lost; battles which were mere distractions for the overlord, second friend long slaughtered. And he, at this instant, hates them both.)

"I'm not strong like you, and kind of sick of playing the role of the loud mascot. If you want to stand at the top then do it, I won't be there, that's all." 

"What happened?" 

"I told you, I talked to Azami."

He sees the narrowed eyes, Kaito unsure of his words. Whatever, he doesn't await for a reply, eager to leave. 

Later, he might get a text about forgetting to return the bolo tie. Ah, he is a bit of a sentimental bastard, in spite of everything. 

  
  


On the way back to his sister's, rain still pounding against the umbrella, he takes his second step towards changing history. On accident though. A banal encounter, high school student holding a bag above his head to make up for the lack of protection, a flyer slipping off said bag, and Peco catching it mid-air before it can drown in a puddle. 

"Oi, Gaim?" 

In spite of the weather, the person does take the time to turn around, immediately lowering his bag to close it properly. The urgency of drenched homework making his fingers clumsy. 

"Are you planning on auditioning?"

Uneasy, the other is thinking way too hard about his reply, even once Peco is holding his umbrella above the two of them. Sure, that's more proximity than what's appropriate, not that he cares. 

"Gaim's a good choice. A bit on the weak side, which means less competition among members. It's great for a newcomer."

"They're not weak, merely in need of—time." 

Weak. Strong. Weird how he leaves Kaito only to run into familiar concepts. 

"Yeah, if you say so~" 

"Are you a beat rider?" 

Mitsuzane Kureshima is asking too many questions already. Peco twirls his umbrella, sending water on the ground around them. In another life, their pseudo-friendship didn't turn out so well. 

(Quite an understatement.) 

"Nope, not fond of the whole thing. My best friend is, or rather she'll be soon. You'll meet at the same audition, I suppose. I'm coming though to cheer for her." 

Oh, that's not what the kid wanted to hear. Perhaps because of the school uniform, dual identities he loved to the point they cost him his sanity. He still has not acknowledged his future participation to the team, aware of the implications of someone knowing who he is. However, they haven't exchanged names or anything, thus it's fine. Peco can pretend not knowing which school he belongs to, after all. 

"For you too, if you need~" 

"What?" 

Oh, Mitsuzane.exe has ceased to function. He shrugs, to say it's only a joke. 

(Some of his scars are from this boy—faded memories he bore for too long, deep inside his skin.) 

"Yeah, you probably need that bit of encouragement. I'm Peco by the way, don't forget—here."

He holds the umbrella out until the boy accepts it. A hint of kindness can go a long way, for someone who believed that he could only be loved by controlling everything. Not that Peco appreciates Mitsuzane, he simply believes they can do a tad better this time around. 

"Return it to me next time."

He grins, the gesture foreign in a mouth with teeth not sharp enough, taking a step back to be underneath the downpour. That's funny how he doesn't mind that much. As if he was in the forest once again, laying on moss during a rainy day, heavy drops crashing against the corner of his eyelids.

"I'm—Micchi, thank you for your kindness." Even a little bow. 

"Don't be so formal, Micchan."

The offended expression is definitely worth it. 

"It's Micchi!"

"Sorry, can't hear you over the rain, bye bye!"

(The first and the second did try to save the broken boy found half-alive in a lab; they fought for a while, to make him eat and sleep, to bring life back into his mind, he cannot recall why though. 

Anyway he slipped out of their grasp, standing at the edge of the world and then letting everything go at once.)

That's kind of hilarious, how Peco has not much anger left towards Mitsuzane now, outside of a burning urge to be a bit mean towards him once he joins the boring blue team, whereas he won't forgive Kaito no matter what. What an ass he is. 

  
  


_Chucky_. She repeats the nickname until she is certain she'll react if she hears it. Chucky, that's odd against her tongue. She watches the world from her bedroom window, staring at the Yggdrassil tower, still standing, weapon in itself, a constant proof of what's to come. That's going to be terrible—

(Yuuya-san has to die, the first whispers to the sky, he's the catalyst, the starting point.)

She leaves, ignoring the note her mother pinned on the fridge, gaze avoiding what's not of importance. Being a mortal once more is a confusing feeling, sleep and hunger catching her off guard quite often.

As she steps through bustling streets, making her way to the garage—future hideout, bodies scattered around—she opts to create shortcuts. Ways to be unseen as she climbs over a fence, knowing exactly where to put her feet. Her stamina is lacking, that's easy to fix though. Climbing buildings is a tad more complicated, considering she could be caught, so she opts for alleys and easy ledges she can reach. 

Chucky, that's her name. The others—Mai, Yuuya, Micchi, Rat, Rica—they have all blurred into a mess of dying faces and missed goodbyes. 

The first, that's who she is, the first survivor, a frown on her face and orders on the slip of her tongue, loathing to be challenged unfairly, and to lose. 

As she has almost reached her destination, legs sore before she even showed her improvised routine, not that it matters much, Gaim used to have low standards, she hears a chuckle above her.

On the maintenance catwalk on a familiar factory, only emptiness below, the second is grinning. The kind which would have made his mouth bled from the sharpness of his teeth in another world. Legs dangling in the air, arms crossed over the meager railing. 

"This is I, bringer of fate, will you listen to my heartbroken plea?" 

Riddles instead of a tongue, truth stolen countless times, that's what Mai had to endure. If they were greater souls, hadn't they been torn apart by love and vines they wouldn't joke about it. However, Helheim remains difficult to reach, parental supervision lacking. If anything, she would push them to destroy everything the fake god created. With a hint of glee in her tendrils.

"For you to join Gaim?"

That's a recurrent pleasantry between them who are basically the same person. Brash children who should already be adults, yet they are not. The second, she better calls him Peco in front of the other, bursts out laughing. 

She notes bandages on his cheek and hands, practice gone wrong. Or insolence, believing they are above their mortal companions. 

(They are.) 

Ignoring the height, deadly for anybody else, a crushing fall, legs shattering, face exploding against the asphalt, Peco presses his hands against the edge of the catwalk, jumping. To his credit, he doesn't die. 

Mother made sure the fake deity couldn't get rid of them so easily. 

Still, as the first watches him get up on wobbly knees, pink and purples spark running undernearh skin against to vines twisted together to reform bones, she is certain he is merely stupid. Hence the slap against his head. 

Followed by foreheads pressed against each other. The pain pulsing through him is transferred to her own bones, partially. They have been one for so long, that's not odd at all. 

"Gaim or not, you're with me."

"Always."

Good. Once they are allowed to reach their potential, to rip themselves to shred and back into who they are, they should spar. Casually, dancing and fighting mixing into one, their bodies perfectly in sync. 

Chucky doesn't mention she won't truly belong to Gaim, this time around. She has to join, to ensure everything goes on a greater path, for Her rather than—oh well, Mother is inside their brain and heart. They have similar goals. 

  
  


They walk to the auditions. 

It goes better than the previous time, and she should feel something—guilt, or relief, at Yuuya's face and his warm smile, Kouta talking eagerly about getting all of them new uniforms with a non-existent paycheck, the fact that Rat and Rica will only join the following year—although nothing comes. Instead, she watches, wanting to leave. Does she have to go through what doesn't need to be fixed? Is it compulsory to experience happiness among people she'll lose? 

"Great job today," Mai beams at her, ponytails a bit asymmetrical. 

"Thanks," she manages, recalling how monsters plunged a hand through her chest, ripping life away without her consent. Ah, sometimes she hates humans. 

From the corner of her eye, she spots Micchi, handing back an umbrella to not-a-member-only-Chucky's-childhood-friend. Oh, has history been rewritten already? The future traitor is embarrassed by the way Peco mocks him for being formal, the second knowing more than he should.

Perhaps, they'll do fine at first. After all, they have a whole year before the world starts going wrong. A bit more until everyone in this room is gone. 

  
  


The world unzips in front of them, lost paradise they slip inside without considering the journey back. After all, Helheim is home. That's a bit earlier than anticipated, only a couple of weeks after Chucky joined Gaim. It's only for them, they hope, as they walk into familiar territory. They doubt it's the case though—

Scientists and soldiers have left footprints on the rough soil, wires entwined against trunks and branches. The second would call vines to shatter cameras, although the slingshot works as well. A good time to practice his aim. 

Once they are certain to have remained out of sight and destroyed pesky technology tormenting Mother, they head straight for their favorite place; a waterfall with a bassin in which they washed off dirt and blood countless times. 

Sitting on rocks, feet in the water, they bask into the atmosphere. Not quite the same, and fruits are dropped in the water in front of them, glimmering underneath sun rays in the perfect temptation. They know it's too early, and are perfectly capable to ignore it. 

That detail seems to be enough for their beloved Mother to take interest, vines coming from the water and wrapping around their ankles. 

The first and the second share a glance, lacing fingers together as they are dragged under the surface. 

Unlike appearances, the bassin is actually deep enough for darkness to engulf them for a moment, although they do not try to resist this murder attempt. Mother has to be certain of her love, of who they are. That's fair. Or the lack of oxygen is talking for them. 

Peco coughs water, as the vines suddenly yank them out. He would laugh—it's always on the edge of cruelty when he does, terrible feelings pushing everything else away—at the scene, if he wasn't attempting to get rid of his lungs. Between trees, vines are holding them upside down, as if they were laundry waiting to dry. 

His hand is still in the first's.

Always. 

Tendrils trace their faces, wet hair and clothes dripping on the ground underneath them. 

"Mother, we're home," the first whispers. 

That feels good, even when the tendrils push against lips, infiltrating mouths and heading straight for the brain. The pain almost causes him to blackout, which would be offensive to Her. Thus, the second awaits until she is done, spitting the extra saliva on the ground without much grace. It's a bit red. 

Gently, almost with care, they are pulled back onto their feet, immediately going for a sitting position instead. Shit, he is crying. It's Her affection, that's—or it's the fact his mouth is filled with blood which keeps on dripping out. Images start to flash inside his mind, memories from past and future, a bit of a warning against overlords which shouldn't be such a problem if they plan ahead. 

Then she basks them in Her love, tendrils washing their mouths and faces, wiping tears and everything away. 

For a short while, they are home.

  
  


They walk back in the middle of the night, going on separate ways begrudgingly. Wasn't it the most perfect time? The first climbs inside her bedroom, silence greeting her. While the second has the keys of the appartement and his sister sleeps like a rock. 

  
  


The next evening, at practice, Chucky walks in with a face mask covering the bottom of her face, concealing the marks vines have left on her mouth. Nobody questions it, after all, she must have a cold or something. 

As for Peco and his usual bandages, one knee wrapped tightly, a cut on his cheek mostly hidden by a compress—that's not that odd either. 

Except for the boy who still sits at the back, shy and unsure; mix of an act and a deeper truth. What Kureshima Mitsuzane thinks, as he watches these two huddled together on the floor next to the swing he has claimed, whispering to each other, is that there is something wrong with Peco and Chucky.

And he will find out what it is. 

Filled with resolve, he nods to himself. 

"Micchan," suddenly there is a presence behind him and he blinks, noticing too late that Peco has risen from the floor, "don't think too hard." right before tugging and then pushing on the swing a bit.

"I wasn't—" 

Stopping the swinging abruptly, Peco looms over him, lopsided grin as he gets closer than he should. 

"Don't." 

The warning sends shivers down his spine, although he—there is playfulness, in the midst of that order. A subtle 'I'm sure you won't listen anyway, so whatever' or perhaps he's reading too much into it. Either way, he cranes his neck back, staring at Peco.

He likes a good challenge. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
